


Piano Man

by SpraceJunkie



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Davey plays piano, M/M, idk who else will appear and I'm sorta posting on impulse, jack is an artist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-04 10:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15839580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpraceJunkie/pseuds/SpraceJunkie
Summary: One time I heard the song piano man, one time I thought about Davey playing piano, and one time I decided to write it.It's hopeless fluff ft. Jack as an artist on the up and up and Davey as a pianist/club singer.





	1. Chapter 1

Jack Kelly was an imposter.

Okay, well, technically he wasn’t. Technically he’d received an invitation with his name and his address sent to him because of his job, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel like one.

He’d rented a tux, just like he had for his senior prom, although this time he didn’t have Caroline Adams on his arm, which was an improvement, since she’d ended up ditching him for Casey Ellis halfway through anyway.

He pasted a smile on his face, pretended the room wasn’t as hot as it was, and socialized with people ten times richer and a million times more famous than he was.

It was hell on earth, and he’d only come because his agent said it was good exposure and it would be rude to ignore an invitation.

So here he was, in a tux, wishing anybody else would take off their jacket before he sweat through his, so he wouldn’t be only one without one on.

He hated parties.

It was nice to not have to be worried about making rent anymore, definitely, and it was awesome that he’d finally made it into the art world, but these people were not his kind of people, and it was _so hot_ , how did nobody else look like they were suffocating, he couldn’t even keep a steady train of thought in the disgusting, humid room.

Like usual, he ended up on the edge of the room. It was cooler there, anyway, and fewer people crowded around him to talk to him.

It was a charity ball, or gala, or some word like that, thrown by one of the city millionaires who wanted to prove they were doing enough for charity.

Jack had likely been invited because he was an up-and-coming, new on the scene and in people’s minds, interesting.

Because his one painting had sold for well over what he ever thought he would make in a year, let alone off one piece of art. All of the sudden, he had commissions lined up for months from people willing to pay more than he’d ever charged for anything.

So here he was, completely out of his element. 

He hated tuxedos. They were so _hot_. And wouldn’t somebody please turn on the AC?

He did appreciate the location though. A gorgeous museum, one he’d somehow never been to before, though he’d heard of it. His artist’s eye appreciated the architecture and the decorations chosen for the night.

The music was nice, too. There was just a single guy playing piano, shifting constantly between nice arrangements of a ton of different songs and genres.

As time passed, Jack found himself getting more lost in the music than anything else. Especially when the pianist played jazz. Then it was easy to get lost in a fantasy of being in the 1920s at some Great Gatsby-esque party, rather than in a room full of slightly snobby rich people who barely even talked to him.

Also, in the 20s, it would have been more acceptable to not have air conditioning, seriously, it was like they had the heat on. 

The museum had a courtyard with a fountain, and by ten Jack couldn’t take the heat anymore and found himself out there, alone, his jacket mercifully draped over the bench next to him.

The courtyard was like a fairytale; he couldn't believe there weren’t more people out there. There were little fairy lights hanging from the outside of the window frames looking in on it, and the fountain was lit from underneath in changing colors, and the flowers were just opening up. In the soft light, everything seemed like it was glowing, and Jack’s fingers itched for a pencil and paper to sketch it out to paint later.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t fit a sketchbook in his pockets, and had been advised that his art bag was not fashionable enough to bring to an event like this, so instead, he took a few pictures on his phone, hoping he’d remember the details a camera couldn’t capture well enough later.

“I didn’t realize I was famous enough for the paparazzi to want pictures of me.” The voice startled Jack out of the moment, making him realize he’d been pointing his phone directly at the pianist, who’d come out for air, apparently.

“Oh! Uh, sorry. I was trying to get the, uh, the flowers. Behind you. Sorry.” The pianist laughed.

“I was joking.” He sat down on one of the benches facing the fountain. “I figured you probably weren’t taking a picture of me.” Jack coughed awkwardly and sat down on the other end of the bench. “Sorry if this is rude, but who are you? I don’t recognize your face, and it’s usually the same crowd at all of these things.”

“You play here often?”

“This is first once here, but I get hired for things like this pretty often. They like my flexibility and the fact they don’t have to spend so much money to pay me, since I’m not famous or anything. Rich people are surprisingly stingy.” The man winced. “Sorry. If you’re here you're probably rich, huh?” Jack had to laugh at that.

“I’m just a starving artist who happened to paint something that caught somebody’s eye. I live in a studio apartment, far from the Upper East Side. All these guys have, like, million dollar penthouses with billion dollar views. I’m Jack. Kelly. Jack Kelly.”

“David Jacobs.” David smiled at him. “A pianist, obviously.” There was another pause in their conversation, like both of them were searching for something to say but weren’t sure how to continue the conversation. “What kind of artist?”

“Mostly painting. That’s what got me here, anyway.” Jack shrugged. “You do one abstract art show and suddenly people are willing to pay ninety grand for a swirly cityscape.”

“Did you do the one hanging in there?”

“The purple and blue one, yeah. That’s the one that sold for a lot.”

“No offense, but I don’t get it.” Jack couldn’t quite tell if he was joking or not. Or if he was just commenting on abstract art.

“I painted it in four hours one night when I couldn’t sleep and didn’t really expect anyone to get it. I just like the colors.”

“It’s a cityscape, though?”

“Yeah. Based on the view out my window. And too much coffee, paint fumes, and sleep deprivation.” David laughed.

“And next thing you know you’re rubbing elbows with these guys.” David gestured back inside.

They were still alone in the courtyard, which Jack still couldn’t believe. It was still beautiful out, and even without the quiet music coming out of the doors, the fairy lights kept the same whimsical, floaty atmosphere the music had added to.

“I have to go back to playing. Any requests?”

“I think you’ve been doing pretty well without me so far.” Jack smiled when David laughed.

“I’ll just keep at it then.”

He left Jack alone in the courtyard with the fairy lights and fountain that was still changing colors slowly. The music started up again, and now instead of taking pictures Jack stood near the fountain and took a slow video, hopefully capturing the entire atmosphere created by the lights, water, music, the somewhat quiet chatter coming with the music from the open door.

He couldn’t wait to get home and paint this.

Maybe he’d even do abstract on a huge canvas and give it a fancy name and somebody would buy it for ninety grand.

He went back inside after a little while, knowing somebody would probably notice he was gone and come looking for him, which would definitely be more miserable than just sucking it up and socializing for the few more hours the party would last.

It was still hot, and nobody else had their jackets off.

Jack was jealous of the women who at least had bare arms with the dresses they were wearing while he and every other man there was covered from shoulders to feet in more than one layer.

People were slightly tipsy now, too, which didn’t help things. They pressed closer, touched more freely, made everything inside warmer and tighter.

Hell. On. Earth. Why rich people loved parties, Jack couldn’t guess. Especially parties like this, that didn’t have a point.

It started to wind down after a couple more hours, and Jack was among the first to leave, eager to get home and take off the tux and paint, or at least sketch his ideas out before he went to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack didn’t have an official sponsor gallery. He had the gallery that let him do shows there, but they didn’t do anything other than give him a room or two to show his work.

What he did have was meetings with gallery owners who wanted to sponsor him.

This particular one was at a club, one of the old fashioned ones that still kind of smelled like cigars from decades of smoke soaking into the walls and curtains and was full of people in half suits drinking whiskey from short glasses like they still lived in the nineteen forties.

It was a nice kind of meeting, since the potential sponsor was buying him dinner and drinks while talking about all the benefits Jack would get for agreeing to the deal he was being offered.

More publicity, likely more sales, more connections.

People loved his art, they wanted a consistent place to see his work rather than a few different galleries spread through the city, a show here, a show there. 

It was the best offer he’d gotten so far, although he hadn’t read the entire contract yet.

“Anyway, you think it over. We’re open for you, Mr. Kelly, whenever you’re ready to join our gallery. I have to get going, but you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. Anything you order, put on my tab.”

With that, the man stood up and offered his hand for Jack to shake.

“And here’s my card. Give us a call when you’ve made your decision.”

“I will. Thank you for everything.”

“Of course, of course! Goodnight, Mr. Kelly.”

“Goodnight.”

Jack read the card as he walked away. It was hard to read, with shifting ink and a weird font, and it took him a minute to piece together the name. Phillip Townsend.

He’d forgotten halfway through dinner and managed to avoid needing to use it.

Normally he’d feel bad about ordering things and putting them on somebody else’s tab, but Phillip Townsend had ordered the most expensive bottle of wine for himself along with a thirty-five dollar dinner, so Jack figured he had the money to spare if he wanted to stay and enjoy the club and another drink for a little while.

There was a pianist hidden behind the propped lid near the bar from the table he was at, playing soft jazz, making the room feel even more back in time than it already did.

When he’d finished his glass of wine, he moved over to the bar, figuring the waiter probably wanted to clear the table and collect the tip Phillip Townsend had left.

He hoped it was enough, since he’d been stopped from adding his own tip when he tried.

“Whiskey on the rocks.” He said on impulse when the bartender came over to him. He’d kind of always wanted to order that, even if he hadn’t ever tried whiskey before.

“What, are you stalking me?” Jack looked up at the person who’d sat down next to him and smiled.

“Oh, definitely.” David was smiling too.

“I’ll have my usual.”

“Figured.” The bartender put a small glass of whiskey in front of Jack that looked just like the glasses he’d found so funny and old fashioned when he’d arrived.

“Huh. I didn’t peg you for a whiskey kind of guy.”

“Oh no? What do you think I drink, then?”

“You strike as more of a...gin fizz kinda guy.”

“Well, I’ll have you know I’m a very classy guy who likes very classy drinks.” Jack took a drink and had to try very, very hard not to spit it out and let it get through his nose, too. “Holy fuck.” David started laughing.

“You’ve never had whiskey before, have you?”

“No my God that hurt.” Jack could feel tears in his eyes.

“You’re supposed to sip it. Not swig it.”

“I know that now, thanks.” The bartender handed David a tall glass full of fruit. “Sangria?”

“Mmhmm. Easier to drink than whiskey.” He offered the cup to Jack, who took a drink to wash the burn of the whiskey out of his mouth.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” David took a drink himself, his eyes sparkling as he watched Jack take a careful second sip. “What actually brings you here? Rich enough to get a membership?” Jack laughed.

“It’s been a month. I’m still in the exact financial position I was in then.”

“What about those ninety thousand dollars?”

“In the bank for the next time I run out of money because people don’t want to buy my paintings.” David laughed.

“Based on the fact that I’m a pianist and I’ve heard your name since that party tells me that probably won’t happen.”

“From who?” David shrugged.

“I don’t know everyone’s names. Just a few people rich enough to have memberships here. And anyway, if you’re not, how are you here?”

“A gallery owner brought me here to convince me to sign to his gallery.”

“See? You’re moving up.” David was sideways on his stool, leaning against the bar to face Jack. “And guess what?”

“What?”

“I saw some of your other artwork and I got it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. A landscape that wasn’t formed by random swirls and stuff.”

“What kind of landscape?”

“It was red and rocky. There was a city in the background and a vaguely man-shaped cactus.” Jack laughed.

“Probably a Santa Fe.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

“Nah, I’m from Florida. I went to school there, though. And I never really left my cowboy phase, so I still love painting it.” David finished his drink.

“That’s cute.”

“Cute?”

“That you didn’t leave your cowboy phase. And you paint the west because of that.”

“More like weirdly sentimental.” David laughed again

“Maybe so.” He looked at his watch. “Once again, we have to cut our conversation short so I can go back to playing the piano.”

“Break a leg. That’s the expression, right?”

“It is, thanks!” Jack took another careful sip of his whiskey, watching David sit down and run his fingers over the keys like he was alerting the piano to his presence before he started to play again.

The whiskey wasn’t so bad now that he knew how to drink it.

Although it was definitely more alcoholic than anything he usually drank.

David had been right that he wasn’t much of a whiskey guy.

The music started again, another slow, jazzy melody that Jack didn’t quite recognize, and looking around, Jack could again buy the fantasy he supposed was the club’s appeal.

It was old fashioned in the most romantic way, with thick, red, velvet curtains that blocked out the city, and the shiny, dark wood panels and tables. It fed rich people’s fantasy of old fashioned poshness that modern living apparently couldn’t.

It filled his head with ideas that he knew he had to get out somehow before he lost them.

He had a pencil in his pocket, of course, when didn’t he? And there were napkins scattered around the bar, most of them clean. A step down from the nice drawing paper he’d been treating himself to since he’d had more money, but he could work with that.

He lost himself in his sketching, trying to capture the atmosphere, how it was modern and old at the same time.

He was distracted when the music shifted into chords he knew he recognized but couldn’t quite place.

“Wise men say…” He looked back up at the piano when the words tipped him off to what song it was. He hadn’t heard David sing before, but it was obviously him singing, into a microphone set up to be right in his face while he played. “Only fools rush in...but I can’t help falling in love with you…”

He had a beautiful voice, which Jack supposed he should have guess when he found out he played at a club like this, and it was kind of hypnotizing to watch him play, the way he moved as he reached for keys higher or lower than he was hitting before.

“Shall I stay, would it be a sin? If I can’t help, falling in love...with...you.” Davey looked over to Jack and _winked_ , and Jack felt himself flush.

A pianist, a singer. Cute. Nice.

Without needing to really think about it, he stopped drawing the club and moved to a clean napkin, starting a quick portrait.

Nice cheekbones, a strong jawline, dark hair. He didn’t draw him singing, since he thought he looked a lot better with a smile. He had a cute dimple when he smiled.

“Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling so it goes, some things...are meant to be.”

It wasn’t an overly detailed portrait, but Jack thought he’d captured David pretty well.

“Take my hand, take my whole life too, for I can’t help...falling in love with...you.”

The song ended and he started a new one, one Jack didn’t recognize, and he kind of wanted to stay just to listen, but it was later, he was buzzed bordering on tipsy, and he wanted to get home.

On impulse, maybe riding the courage the whiskey had given him, he wrote his cell number on the bottom edge of the little portrait and stood up.

“You have a gorgeous voice, but don’t stop singing on account of me.” Jack set the napkin on the piano where sheet music would have gone if he’d been using it. “That’s my number, in case you couldn’t tell.” With that Jack gave a little wave and left the club.

Probably the smoothest flirting he’d ever managed to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I got distracted by the TatBILB au but now I'm back on this one. I'm thinking this'll only be one or two more chapters but who knows.

**Author's Note:**

> Hmm I'm Asper and I'm gay and that's all ya need to know about that! The next chapter will go up soon! Hope you like this fluffy little au.
> 
> I'd really, really appreciate comments, they make my day, encourage me to write, and are just all around good! Kudos are nice too!
> 
> Come hang out on Tumblr @enby-crutchie, I'm havin' a good gay time over there!


End file.
